For the Sake of Science
by dozefallsdownthestairs
Summary: Straight eligible bachelors, Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones devise a plan to give marriage a test drive. With each other. Eventual USUK.
1. Chapter 1

**hello! This is a bit of a goofy idea, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. I hope you enjoy it! **

**Side note: I am aware that gay marriage is not performed as of right now in Nevada, but I like to look forward to a freer, more rights United States.**

**Rated T for: cussing, opinions, and potentially sex. Eventual USUK**

I met my husband at the bar. It was Friday night, a smoldering time in Vegas. He'd just downed four shots and threatened to castrate me if I ever touched the girl with him.

"I got a girlfriend, man," I promised him, jerking my tie loose and giving his pretty young thing a nod. She had big brown eyes and an ethnic tilt to her smile. Later I would learn her name was Shelly and that she was just pitying him. I was away on a business trip at the time. My mind was irretrievably wrapped around the little velvet box in my pocket.

"What's that?" he asked when I pulled it out.

"A ring." I said, flicking the lid up for him to see the jewel. "It's for my girlfriend."

His nose wrinkled. "Oh balls, you're a bloody sap. Proposals, I'll tell you. If I hear one more thing about 'em I'm likely to vomit." He waved for the bartender who supplied him with another scotch.

I chuckled. "It's not exactly my piece of cake, either. I mean, I never really got it anyway. I don't even like her."

"Then why the hell are you going to marry her? Even if you loved her I'd advise against it. How could it possibly be so great? Everyone's off having affairs and getting divorced. Marriage is a dead institution these days, mate. Utterly useless, but to get a few tax cuts."

"Well, hey, tax cuts are pretty great," I laughed, taking a hardy sip of my glass. "I'm only marrying her so my boss will get off my back. Apparently it's no longer fitting for a young gentleman to climb his way up the business ladder without a wife to abuse at home?" I rolled my eyes. "You know, I bet she'd only like me cuz I'd buy her jewelry. I mean, I've always dreamed of the romantic soulmate shit, but it feels like a bunch of, well, shit at this point. Of course, all that doesn't affect marriage generally. My parents were pretty happy. I'd like to be like them someday, you know."

"Mate," he said perfectly seriously. We were both more than drunk, but it came across perfectly reasonable when he proposed it. "I think you can't begin to know what you're talking about. The only way you could understand is if you were married."

"What?" I frowned. "Are you married?"

"No." He said, but continued on hurriedly. "But just look at my parents. They hate each other! Divorced before I was even born. Well... maybe they liked each other enough to conceive me, but hey they were divorced! That says something." He waved a finger assuredly. "Marriage is dead, unromantic, and illogical. Only religious fruitcakes stay together anyway, and they hate each other for it. Abstinence is a thing of the past. Society is so over marriage."

"Hey now," I scowled defensively. "My parents are Catholic and they like each other alright. In fact, they still hold hands. Who made you the ultimate authority on romantic relationships? You're probably just bitter because no one wants to marry you."

He sputtered for a moment, face going unbearably red. Later, I would learn that I'd more than hit the nail on the head. "T-Total b-bollocks," he shouted. "And even if anybody did, like hell I'd commit myself to that shit. Marriage is a prison. Divorce is an escape. Why even bother with the whole ordeal?"

I thought he was unbelievably cynical. Sure, I was about to marry someone I cared less about than a bag of potatoes, but I could eventually love her right? He made the whole thing sound like a worthless rat race, and he was only a lonely bastard. His girl was on the dance floor without him, no friends. What did he know?

I continued to drink stormily, wishing there was a way out of this pressure. My boss knew the girl and thought we'd be an excellent match. There was always an undertone of a threat that if we didn't marry or do something I wouldn't achieve the new executive promotion. My parents couldn't sympathize. I was quickly nearing thirty and still single. The soonest girl they saw would be just as good a match to them. Why was there so much damn pressure to marry anyway? I liked being a bachelor, thank you very much.

I actually still had my mind set on meeting _the one_. I blamed it on my girly twin that I was still caught up in those pink fairytales. Still. It wasn't marriage's fault that I hadn't found her, right?

My English bastard drinking partner spoke suddenly, "Are you looking for a lay?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Dude, I'm not gay."

"No, not with me," he stumbled angrily, cheeks going even redder. "Before you drivel your life away, why don't you have a little fun? I'll bet I could get you two for the price of one."

"I'm not into prostitutes either." I rolled my eyes. "Look, I don't want to sleep with anybody. I'm waiting for-" I cut myself off suddenly, but it was too late. The whiskey had lowered my ability to filter what I was saying. If I was smart, I would have stopped drinking then.

"You're waiting for _marriage_?" He asked incredulously. "Well, no wonder you want to marry her. You just want to get laid."

"Oh shut up," I spat bitterly. "Like anyone would want to sleep with you, assface."

He snorted. "Nice try. I am sullied as they say."

I rolled my eyes again. He sounded pretty proud of it, too. "Whatever. I don't see why you have to take it all out on marriage though. Some people are happy with it."

"They're not at all forward thinking." He shot back critically. "If you were married, you'd understand."

"But you're not married either!" I slurred. "How can you possibly understand?"

"Well, how can you?" He crossed his arms. We had reached a moot point.

I waved the bartender down. "How about we have a shot contest to see who's right? Whoever takes the most wins."

"Deal." he agreed without hesitation.

The details are a bit foggy to me today, and I can't for the life of me say who won. He claims he did, but I doubt it. The important thing is that it led to this conversation.

"There's no w-way either of us can know." I said desparingly as the racks of bottles seemed to spin in front of us.

He had his cheek pressed to the bar counter. "F-fine, but-t one of us has t-to be right-t."

"Yeah... wh-what should we d-do?"

We were silent in our dilemma for a couple minutes when he suddenly banged his fist on the wood. "I kn-know!"

"Wh-what?"

"Well, n-neither of us is m-married, correct?"

"Yeah."

"So we j-just have to get married to kn-know."

"Wait," I frowned in befuddlement. "B-but you didn't want to get m-married."

"For the sake of science, I m-might." He said nobly, his sour breath washing all over my face.

"Ok, but wh-who?"

"Each other." He said plainly as if it were obvious as day.

"B-but we're not, you know, g-gay."

"So?" He pushed himself up into a sitting position. "It's an experiment. We're pr-pretending."

"Oh." I frowned suspiciously. "But it has to be like a r-real simulation. You can't just mess it up. We'd h-have to do everything right."

"L-like what?" he asked.

"Like... like..." I gathered my scattered thoughts. "Well, we'd have to do all the things married people do. We'd have to act happy at the wedding... and buy a house together... and share a bed... and get a kid. Otherwise, it just wouldn't be real enough."

"Mate, I'm ace at pretending," he said seriously. "Give me that ring. We're going to the jewelry store."

It turned out that there were no jewelry stores open in Vegas at 2am. I was stuck with a blue raspberry swirl RingPop, which we bought at the gas station for fifty cents. Would you believe he made me pay for my own ring? Of course, my piece of proposal bling originally destined for my generic girlfriend just happened to fit him because he had uncannily girlish hands. So together I guessed we were worth about eight hundred dollars and fifty cents.

We had a loud argument in front of my hotel over who was supposed to be doing the proposing. I don't know how I won, but he ended up on one knee in front of the light up fountains. (They had a prettier view.) He had a joyless smirk on his face, drunk as we both were. The lights cast him in different colors and he had to raise his voice over the roar of the water.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" I shouted, loud enough for the manager to come out. Right after he'd put the ring on my finger, I shoved him into the fountain in my pretend excitement. Which was unfortunate as he then needed to be saved because he couldn't swim. You would think I'd know these things about my fiancee.

Of course, the courthouse was open, hardly strange in Vegas. He in his wet sweater vest and I in my suit requested a priest. The gaudy inside made me feel like puking or maybe it was all the alcohol. He asked for our names on the form.

"Alfred Franklin Jones."

"Arthur Oliver Kirkland."

We glanced at each other, realizing we hadn't known the other person's name until that point. It should have been enough to shock us back to reality, but we'd already paid the man seventy bucks and to hell if we wouldn't go through with this. We took each other's hands and committed ourselves to the ultimate experiment.

"I do."

"I do."

"You may kiss the groom." The tired dude that was marrying us announced.

I caught his green eyes, and felt a churning hesitation drop like a block into my gut. I saw the same look in his eyes.

"What's the worst shenanigans you've ever gotten into when drunk?" I asked him.

"I can't remember."

"Ever kissed a dude before?"

"You seem awfully logical for being drunk," Arthur growled and grabbed me behind the neck, forcing me into the kiss.

We broke apart, eyes wide, and to this day I can still remember the sound of wedding bells played over cheap speakers mixed with the sound of our simultaneous vomit. It was probably because we were drunk, but we both swore to God it was because the other person was disgusting. Poor priest, though, we both failed to miss his shoes.

**So how was it? Leave a review if you'd like it continued. All support is much appreciated, doze.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! It was awesome to hear from you guys!**

**Here's chapter two where we continue to set up our 'fun' adventure. Haha.**

**BY THE WAY THIS SHOULD BE UPDATED WEEKLY FROM NOW ON. **

**Chapter Rated T: cursing**

"Don't talk to me."

"But Alf-"  
>"I said, <em>don't.<em> I'm done talking." I examined the plastic ring on my finger bitterly and then dropped my head back in frustration. The morning sunlight spilled around my feet, tickling across the official license. Our names danced on it, blacked in unforgivable ink.

We were sitting on the floor on opposite sides of my hotel bed. Upon waking under the same sheets, we were more than relieved that we hadn't _done _anything. It was a momentary relief.

"I don't see how you can blame me," he grumbled. His name was Arthur. I was pretty sure I'd learned that last night, but he'd had to reintroduce himself this morning.

"Well, it must be your fault. It was your idea. I'd never have such a dumb idea."

I heard him sniff defensively. "If it was my idea, it was bloody brilliant."

"Oh," I pushed up on my knees, planting my hands on the bed. "And how the hell do you arrive at that conclusion?"

He squirmed around to face me, glaring through his hangover. "Because if you weren't such a pansy it would work, that's how. It doesn't matter. As it so happens, I want a divorce." An odd look came into his eyes. He bit his lower lip.

I raised my eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just... Why, I bet I could get a settlement." He murmured, tracing his fingers over the fine linen of the bed as if just noticing it for the first time. "This is such a nice hotel, too. Who did you say you worked for?"

My mouth dropped. I'd married a bastard. "No fucking way. I'm not giving you any money."

"Why? This has been such a traumatic experience." Arthur flashed a crooked-toothed grin my way. "I thought you loved me. You'll have to at least let me keep this. For the memories." He held up his hand allowing the jewel to flash in the morning light. The eight hundred dollar jewel.

"You give that back right now or I'm calling the cops. I'm not even kidding." I stood up seriously, holding out my palm. "So help me god, Arthur Kirkland, I will kill you and leave your body for the birds. Give me the ring."

"Why? It was a gift." He pretended to admire it on his hand. "I _like _it."

I gritted my teeth. This was not happening, not from a pipsqueak like him. You'd think if I had to marry any guy on the planet, even drunk I'd at least have had better taste. I grabbed him by his rumpled Polo collar, holding him while I tried to capture his hand.

He moved it obnoxiously back and forth. His breath reeked of old whiskey.

"Stop. Moving. Around." I ordered, abruptly getting frustrated and shoving him on the floor. I pinned him by his shoulders, but then had to let go in order to fish for the ring. Without any hesitation, he shoved his hand under his butt where I couldn't get to it, raising thick eyebrows at me innocently.

"What is your problem, man?" I exploded. "I haven't done anything to you!"

"Other than bind me up in a legal contract with the likes of your sorry ass?" He said pointedly.

"You consented!"

"I did no such thing!"

"Yes, you did!"

"Well, I was drunk!"

"So! You can't make me pay you! You consented!"

I grabbed a fist full of his shirt, jerked him up and shoved him down with a loud thud. It wasn't hard enough to hurt him, but enough to jolt him.

He glowered, coughing. "You consented more than I consented."

"Not true. How was I supposed to know you'd get down on your knees when I asked you to? I didn't want that! If anyone didn't consent it was me!" I shouted. A loud knocking on the door interrupted us, and a wary maid popped her head in.

"Am I interruptin'? Oh, yes," she petered, turning bright red when she saw us. "I shoulda known it by your conversation. Sorry, sirs. I'll come back later."

I jumped off him like he was hot iron. "By our... We weren't talking about rape!" But she had already vacated the room. I groaned. "What are you smirking about?"

"Nothing." Arthur shrugged, but he had started to smile.

"What? You can't actually be happy. Look," I ran my hands through my hair. "I've got a flight to catch later today for Houston and-"

"Houston," he interrupted. "Where's that?"

I raised my eyebrows at him incredulously. "Texas..."

"Oh stop that," he waved a hand at me, easing himself to his feet. "Can't you tell I'm not from here? Texas is the big one by Mexico, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Why?"

He was helping himself to the mini fridge. With a satisfied flash of teeth, he pulled out two beers, offering one to me. "Why don't we have a chat about this whole business before you bugger off? I think this could actually turn out quite favorably for the both of us."

"You mean for you." I said skeptically. Now that it was morning and I was less drunk, I'd had the chance to actually look at him. He wasn't as well off as I was. In the daylight, he was a rough person. His hair stuck up wildly and he wore a rumpled green Polo with a striped black and white longsleeve shirt underneath. Faded ripped skinny jeans hung in tatters about him. I wouldn't say he was exactly a punk, but he certainly had a mismatched edginess about him that I didn't quite know how to take. "How old are you?" I asked suddenly, because I was having difficulty determining.

"Not the current topic of conversation," he said swiftly. "Here's what I think, mate." Arthur held up his beer seriously. "You go off to wherever you need to be, and I'll take care of this whole situation."

"Yeah, sure. Do I look that stupid? Are you saying you don't want a divorce?"

"Let me paint you a picture," Arthur came to stand beside me, so that we could both see ourselves in the mirror. "We're married, right?"

"Yeah, that part's already been painted."

"Why did you agree to this?"

"I don't know." I scowled. "I was trying to prove that marriage was worth its while. But this is completely different so-"

"You want a divorce. I win."

"Woah, woah, woah. That's so stupid." I turned to face him indignantly. "You wanted a divorce earlier! Why the sudden change of heart? Neither of us are gay. I don't know a thing about you. And how the hell would we hypothetically tell if I was right? Stay married forever?"

"I don't want to stay married. I just have nothing better to do." He said, though I was sure he was lying for some reason. "Look, we can come up with a time limit. If you can stay married to me that long, then you win. If I win and we get divorced before then, I'm asking for a settlement of 2.5 million."

My mouth dropped again. "You'd rob me blind! That's so unfair!"

He shrugged, smirking. "Love's a tough game. Your call. We can head to the courthouse right now. Or you can go to Houston, do what you need to..."

"Hold up." I crossed my arms. "What do I get if I'm right?"

"The satisfaction of beating someone who never loses."

"Go to hell." I couldn't help but laugh then. "I'll think of something. It's already more than unfair."

Arthur shrugged again. "Not my fault. Are you going to drink that?" He removed my unopened beer from my hand, turning to sprawl on the bed. "Remote?"

Without thinking, I grabbed it off the dresser and tossed it to him.

"Look at us doing married things." He gave me an undeniably smug grin. He seriously thought he was going to get money off of me. Like hell.

"How long?" I demanded with a competitive gleam in my eye. "Careful," I warned as he opened his mouth. "If you say so many years, prepared to be married that long. Unfortunately for you, I don't lose either."

He closed his mouth, green eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You want to make a suggestion?"

"Nope. Go for it."

"Four seasons," he said finally. "It's what my mum told me to do before I asked someone to marry me. Date them for four seasons, a year, to see how they were."

"You jumped the gun a bit." I rolled my eyes. A year. I could do that. It would be the most interesting year of my life, but I felt confident that I had this in the bag.

"Don't be surprised if I disappear for awhile," he informed me flatly as I sat next to him on the bed. He had on MTV which I thought was a little young for us.

"You can't." I shot back.

"What do you mean I can't?" Arthur's lower lip curled up as if he were disgusted by the notion of staying with me for any longer than we already had.

I laughed. "Are you kidding? Don't you remember our deal? We're supposed to do 'married' things together. I think that includes living together."

"Like hell I'm fucking you."He spat.

"Like hell I'm fucking you," I repeated back even more adamantly. "That's not what I meant. This is an experiment. The only way it'll work is if you participate. Otherwise, you don't win."

"What do you mean participate?"

I sighed overdramatically, sprawling on my stomach next to him. "You're making me do all the work, lazy bastard. I mean, we need to tell all our family and friends because we're excited about being married, remember? We need to plan some sort of fake honeymoon and give that a shot. My dad has a condo on an island off Florida we could use."

"You've got to be kidding." he said flatly.

"Not really. If I'm trying to prove my point, this marriage needs to start off right. We'll honeymoon-"

"I already said we're not fucking."

"I know that! We'll just take a vacation, okay? Hell knows I need one. It could be fun."

"I don't have money for that," Arthur said it in such a low voice that I almost couldn't hear him.

"That's fine," I waved it off. "It's my dad's condo, so that's free. And anyway, usually the bride's family pays for the honeymoon. I suppose I'm the 'bride' since you asked me, so that works well. We'd have to come back then... and what next?"

"Buy a house?" he suggested sarcastically.

"Oh yeah," I frowned. "We can just move apartments. Do you have furniture?"

"In England."

"What?" My eyes widened. "That's cool! Does your family live there? Do they all have accents like yours?"

"How old are you?"Arthur muttered disparagingly.

"How old are you?" I said back, waving at MTV. His face turned red.

"Shut up!"

I sighed. "Fine, just... why do you want to do this? If you would stop being stubborn, we could get a divorce and then never see each other again. Do you really need money that bad?"

He didn't answer. His jaw clenched.

I hesitated for a moment, before standing and retrieving my back pack from the corner. I rifled through my comicbooks, business plans, and Nintendo games to pull out the beat up blue leather sleeve. I was pretty sure I hadn't actually written a check since college. It would be a stroke of luck if I remembered how to do it.

I sprawled on the floor next to our glossy official marriage license and copied his full name down word-for-word. I skipped to the bottom part and signed my own name. The other empty lines daunted me and I tapped the pen against my teeth. I'd never had trouble giving my money away. Homeless men on the streets, friends who forgot lunch money, bullies who forgot lunch money... It was just who I was. I made a lot of money and I liked to buy stuff, but it wasn't like I needed every penny.

I could feel him watching me incredulously.

Before I could lose the balls, I scrawled the number in and held it out to him. "There. That's more than fair. Will that help out?"

He took it from me slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. He turned it around so I could see the number myself. "Three thousand dollars?"  
>"Yeah..."<p>

"_Three thousand?"_

"Sure," I scratched the back of my neck uncomfortably. "It won't buy you much in the long run, but it should help somehow. For rent or something... you know..." His staring was beginning to make me feel awkward. "What?"

"You can afford to give random chaps off the street three thousand dollars?"

I laughed. "I guess. I mean, I won't be getting cable for the next couple years, but that's something I can live without."

He bit his lip. "Are you expecting me to pay you back? Is this conditional?"

"Nope. Keep it."

He shrugged. "I will then." He pocketed it and returned to his TV show. There was an indefinite period of silence. "We're staying married."  
>"Why?" I burst out overdramatically, sprawling backwards on the floor. "I just gave you a gift out of the goodness of my heart and you still want to stick around?!"<p>

"There's obviously more where that came from." He answered, tossing me another beer.

"Not with that attitude." I shot back, grumpily, wondering if I'd gained myself a moocher. But I wasn't really angry. The gift had been unconditional.

No doubt, this was the most bizarre situation I'd ever encountered in my life, but it felt good to do something stupid. I wasn't quite ready to let go of the feeling. I was looking forward to telling my parents I was 'gay', to experiencing the drama unheard of in our family where the eldest son fucked off and did whatever he wanted. I didn't know about Arthur, but I was beginning to think this could be fun.

Anyway, I wanted to have the pleasure of cutting off some of his cynical edge myself. After we eventually parted ways, who knew? Maybe we'd both end up married and totally boss at it for all this practice.

**Despite the utter stupidity of the general premise, is anyone excited for this? I feel like even if nobody is I'd still write it, bc i'm just that hardcore weeb. Thanks a lot, doze**


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